Springfield Springs Forward II
by Dead Composer
Summary: Homer awakens to a reality where he never married Marge! How can he win her back? Guest appearance by Mindy Simmons!
1. I Didn't Marry Marge

This story is rated PG-13. Nothing more offensive than the material in the show.

Disclaimer: The Simpsons own Matt Groening.

* * *

"Artie Ziff?" exclaimed the startled Homer. "ARTIE ZIFF?" 

"That's what I said," Ozmodiar affirmed.

Homer calmed down and wiped his brow. "What a relief. I was so afraid you'd say Moe Szyslak."

"I'd still like to know who you're talking to," said the bewildered Maude.

"Artie wished for Marge to be his wife," the little green alien recounted. "I altered the time stream so that he behaved like a perfect gentleman instead of getting unfortunately fresh with her in his car. You are now living in a reality where Marge Bouvier became Marge Ziff instead of Marge Simpson. A reality where Maude Flanders is still alive—but that's mere coincidence."

"What about my kids?" asked Homer with concern.

"Bart, Lisa, and Maggie no longer exist," Ozmodiar told him. "They never did."

"I want my family back," Homer pleaded. "What do I have to do?"

"Artie is the only other person who remembers things as they were," said the alien. "You must convince him to wish for the old reality to return. You have exactly seven days—after that the change will become permanent."

Homer shook his head despondently. "How am I gonna convince him to give up his wife?" he wondered. "I'm so dumb, I couldn't convince him to run out of a burning building."

"Homer, what on Earth are you talking about?" Maude demanded.

"Shut up, dead woman," Homer snapped.

"As a first step, I suggest that you get dressed," said Ozmodiar.

"Yeah, that might be smart," remarked Homer, glancing down at his bathrobe.

As he was strolling toward the still-open entrance to his house, Barney approached him, wearing a blue uniform and a proud smile. Homer marveled at how well-groomed and poised his usually-drunken friend was.

"Where you headed?" he asked.

"To my job," Barney answered.

"What's your job?"

"You really don't remember?" Barney grinned patronizingly. "I'm a search-and-rescue chopper pilot. I'm on my way to Minnesota to rescue a kid who's been lost overnight in the Mall of America."

"Uh…sounds fulfilling."

"You'd better hurry up and get ready for work," Barney counseled him. "You don't want to be late again. In case you've forgotten, you're a technician at the nuclear power plant."

_At least that hasn't changed_, thought Homer.

His clothes dresser now had a mirror attached to the top—apparently, as a single person, he was more concerned about his appearance. The shirts and pants were somewhat unfamiliar, but fit him well. After putting on his shoes and tie, he rushed out of the house and to the sidewalk, where he had last conversed with the alien.

"Ozmodiar!" he called out. "I'm dressed now. What's the second step?"

No voice answered. No little green men were visible.

"Ozmodiar?"

Seeing no sign of the visitor from space, Homer groaned, went to the garage, and climbed into the one available vehicle—a blue PT Cruiser. From the looks of it, life without a family had left him with considerable discretionary income.

He quickly mastered the controls and drove away toward the smokestacks in the distance. The car was comfortable and quiet, though somewhat littered with Krusty Burger trash. He felt satisfied and successful as his fingers gripped the leather steering wheel cover. _If only Burnsie could see me now_, he thought.

Unbeknownst to him, a satellite with a powerful camera was observing his car from orbit…

"Smithers!" said Mr. Burns, who was scanning the array of TV screens embedded in the wall of his office. "Who is that successful-looking fat man driving down Route 401?"

"That's Homer Simpson, sir," his aide replied. "A swinging bachelor who cools things down in Sector 7-G."

"Simpson, eh?" Burns tented his fingers. "With all that traffic, I doubt he'll get here on time. Make sure he doesn't try to sneak in undetected."

As the cars ahead of him slowed to a crawl, Homer became severely impatient. "Come on, come on!" he growled, pounding the horn. "I've only got a week to get my wife back!"

Looking to the side of the highway, he noticed a little place that he had passed many times, but had never visited. A banner draped over the front entrance read, MUST HAVE COFFEE. Below this slogan, in smaller letters, was written, ESPRESSO AND INTERNET ACCESS.

"Mmm…espresso," Homer mumbled.

Then his brain had an ingenious idea. "Stop there," it suggested. "You can do a web search and find out where Marge is. You're stuck in traffic, so what do you have to lose?"

"Mmm…espresso," his mouth repeated.

"Fine," said his brain. "You can get an espresso while we're at it."

Homer pulled aside, parked, and stepped inside the café, where numerous young couples were enjoying breakfast and coffee. A surprisingly familiar face greeted him at the counter. "What can I get for you, sir?"

"Lionel Hutz?" Homer marveled. "You're running a coffee shop?"

"I wish," said Hutz with a sad chuckle.

A short, bearded man with a stern expression approached him from behind. "If you don't sell a triple latte within the next five minutes, you're fired," he warned.

As he sipped his triple latte in front of a computer screen, Homer went into a search engine and typed in the words "Marge Ziff". He didn't believe what he saw.

"Ever wonder how you can get your hair to stand upright like Marge Ziff's? Wonder no more! Try Dr. Nick Riviera's patented Hair Raiser epoxy adhesive!"

"Soul Cookin' with Marge Ziff. Discover the joys of old-time cuisine with more than 100 recipes compiled by the renowned hostess."

"Marge Madness. The new line of sensual lingerie from designer and socialite Marge Ziff."

"During her brief stint as a police officer, Marge Ziff exposed the Legitimate Businessman's Social Club as a Mafia front."

So astonished at the fame and accomplishments of the alternate-universe Marge was Homer, that he idly allowed the coffee mug to tilt in his hand. Before he noticed what was happening, half of his beverage had spilled onto the keyboard and flooded the spaces between the keys.

"D'oh!" he exclaimed, straightening his mug—but too late.

The computer screen turned completely blue, except for a message in blocky letters: "Your computer's hard drive has crashed. Please insert a new hard drive."

Homer groaned as Lionel Hutz walked up alongside him to inspect the damage. "Normally, pouring coffee on the keyboard shouldn't affect the hard drive," he remarked. "But after we upgraded to Windows XP, everything we knew went out the window."

_

* * *

She's super rich and super famous,_ thought Homer bitterly_. She'll never give up that life for a poor loser like me. There's only one alternative. I'll have to poison Artie and woo his widow, just like in that play…uh, My Fair Lady._

His mind ran in hopeless circles as he trudged through the pipe-filled hallway which he believed led to Sector 7-G, which he believed to be his place of work. He couldn't begin to imagine the differences in this strange universe where he hadn't married Marge. Would he discover that the configuration of the reactor control panel had changed drastically? What if red meant "push me now"?

His ruminations were interrupted when the stern-faced Smithers blocked his path. "Simpson, you're late again," the bespectacled man chided him. "That's the third time this week, and it's only Tuesday."

"Er, ah, I can explain," Homer stammered as he looked through the corners of his eyes for an escape route.

"Homer isn't late," came a sweet female voice. "I saw him in the break room half an hour ago."

To Homer's amazement, none other than safety inspector Mindy Simmons was striding toward them in high black heels. She was almost identical in appearance to the Mindy he knew from the old reality, except that her skirt was shorter, and her lipstick a darker shade. Upon seeing her, Homer felt a pleasant sensation that originated in his heart (or so he liked to flatter himself). _Think unsexy thoughts_, he urged himself, recalling his desperate purpose. _Think unsexy thoughts…_

Smithers eyed the safety inspector suspiciously. "Is that the truth?"

"I'm a beautiful woman," Mindy replied. "I wouldn't lie."

"I, uh, just stepped out to take a whiz," Homer claimed.

"The men's room is the other way," said Smithers, pointing.

"The dumpster was closer," said Homer.

Smithers shrugged and turned to leave.

Amazed by Mindy's fabrication, Homer chose to play along. "Look at the time," he remarked facetiously, glancing at his watch. "I've already been working for half an…"

Mindy Simmons kissed him on the lips.

_Huh? What the…_

Her hands were wrapped around the back of his neck. Her eyes were even with his, and radiated affection. He knew it was wrong, and he knew he had to stop, regardless of how good it felt.

"Mindy…don't…" he mumbled, fighting to detach his lips from hers.

The red-haired woman leaned away from him. "You're right, Homer," she said jokingly. "We don't want to make Waylon jealous."

To Homer's added embarrassment, Smithers was standing a yard away, arms folded, glaring disapprovingly at the couple.

"Er, sorry, Mr. Smithers," said Homer meekly.

Smithers' expression softened. _God, I wish I were her_, he thought.

* * *

to be continued 


	2. Lemon Custard Donuts

"What's the deal, Mindy?" Homer protested. "You know I'm married."

The shapely safety inspector gave him a quizzical look.

_No, she doesn't know_, he realized. _She's part of this alternate reality. If I try to explain things to her, she'll think I'm crazy…_

"To my job," he said with a sheepish grin. "I'm married to my job."

"It's about time you admitted it," said Mindy seriously.

She took Homer by the hand and led him along the corridor to Sector 7-G, all the while talking about the nature of their relationship. "How long have we been seeing each other, Homer?" she asked him.

"Uh…" It occurred to Homer that he hadn't the foggiest idea. In this strange universe he and Mindy might have been an item for days, months, or even…

"Years," she answered for him. "They've been the best years of my life, but they could be better. You know what I'm getting at."

They arrived at Homer's station, where he found the control panel to be quite familiar. More complicated was the response he had to give to the lovely and impatient woman standing next to him. _If I wait long enough_, he thought, _maybe she'll answer for me again._

She did. "I want kids, Homer. Your kids."

"But my kids don't exist anymore," said Homer, shrugging.

"I want your face to be the first thing I see every morning," said Mindy seductively. "I want to hear little feet running into the house and little voices yelling, 'Mommy!'"

_Keep going_, Homer thought. _I've almost figured it out._

"I love you more than anything in the world, Homer," said Mindy, caressing his cheek. "I can't see any reason why we shouldn't get married."

"GET MARRIED!" Homer blurted out.

Mindy scowled slightly. "You're not yourself this morning," she observed.

"Yes, I am," Homer insisted. _It's the rest of the universe that's not itself._

"I know what you need," said Mindy with a smile. "Lemon custard donuts. I'll go fetch some."

_How did she know my favorite flavor?_ wondered Homer as the woman skipped away.

He assumed his typical working position—hands behind head, legs resting on the console—and examined the measurements on the gauges while considering his situation. In a way it made sense—only his faithfulness to Marge had prevented him from becoming involved with Mindy in his old life. With Marge out of the picture, there was no obstacle. This presented a problem, as the temptation to pursue her was now even greater. How could he resist?

_Should_ he resist?

_Getting Marge and the kids back is pretty much hopeless anyway_, he pondered. _This new arrangement isn't so bad. Mindy would make a fantastic wife. I expect big things from a woman, and oh, mama, she's got big things. No! What about the kids? Unless I get Marge back, they'll never exist! Wait! If I marry Mindy, maybe our kids will be Bart, Lisa, and Maggie. I can just imagine Lisa as a redhead…_

Mindy sprang into his office, clutching a box of donuts. "Hey, Homer."

"Can't talk," said Homer flatly. "Agonizing."

Her expression one of glee, Mindy drew a lemon custard donut from the box and dangled it in front of Homer's nose. "Do…nut…" she intoned.

Homer barely noticed the donut. This surprised him as much as it surprised Mindy.

"If you don't want it, I'll eat it," said Mindy disappointedly, and she ripped out a chunk of the donut with her teeth.

Homer watched her chew for a few seconds, then spoke up. "Mindy, you're a really nice girl, but…"

The woman made a face like a wounded deer.

"…but you're more than just a nice girl. You're one hell of a woman. And the two of us are perfect for each other, but…"

Mindy paused in mid-bite, her eyes wide.

"…but it's not enough to be perfect for each other. There has to be mutual understanding, mutual attraction, Mutual of Omaha, and all that other mutual stuff."

"We have that," said Mindy with a mouth full of custard.

"Of course we do," said Homer. "But for us to get married…I'm afraid that's…"

Mindy shot him a pained look.

"…that's gonna have to wait at least a week," Homer concluded.

"A week?" echoed Mindy. "That's fine. I'll ask Reverend Lovejoy if next Tuesday's good." She kissed Homer's cheek, leaving a lemon-yellow stain.

"But…" Homer began, but she had already waltzed away happily, leaving the donut box sitting on the control console.

_I don't want to break her heart_, he thought earnestly. _Whatever I do to her, I'll have to live with it if I don't succeed in getting Marge back from Artie._

* * *

In faraway Las Vegas, camera flashes went off throughout the convention center audience as millionaire software entrepreneur Artie Ziff strode to the podium. A banner suspended above his head bore the greeting, WELCOME TO COMDEX '05.

Artie lowered the microphone about eight inches, so it was level with his nose. "Achem," he cleared his throat. "I'm grateful to the convention organizers for all the work they've done. This year's Comdex is the largest yet, with over 3,000 vendors—so many that if you combined them all, they might pose a threat to Ziffcorp."

The audience chuckled. In one of the chairs behind the podium sat Marge Ziff, clad in a fine silk dress, her hair coiffed into an elegant blue tower, a glowing smile on her face.

"My wife Marge has provided the inspiration for many of Ziffcorp's products," Artie went on. "Her latest brainchild is the Intelligent Breadmaker—a device that can bake white, whole wheat, sourdough, or rye bread, depending on your voice input."

The address soon concluded, and Artie departed the stage with Marge amidst thunderous applause. As they walked toward the parking garage, Artie noticed a puzzled expression on Marge's face. "Something wrong, honey?" he inquired.

"I don't know," said Marge, shaking her head. "I've got this feeling like…like something's not right with my life."

"We'll go to the strip as soon as the convention's over, I promise," said Artie.

"No, it's not that." Sensing something amiss, Marge reached upward into her stack of hair to find that a sparrow had accidentally lodged itself inside. "Oh, you poor little thing!"

"Is it hurt?" asked Artie, looking at the small bird fluttering in Marge's slender hands.

"A little stunned," Marge observed. She stood patiently for a few seconds, and the sparrow regained its footing and flew away.

"Still having that feeling?" said Artie gently.

"Nope," Marge answered as they walked. "I'm fine now."

* * *

The work day passed uneventfully. Homer averted three routine meltdowns, but he was no closer to coming up with a plan to return his family to existence.

Mindy entered his control room seconds before the final whistle rang. "Hey, meaty sweetie," she said, planting her lips against his mouth. "Let's blow this joint and head over to Moe's."

"Uh, I was gonna do that anyway," said Homer.

Mindy giggled. "You're so funny."

Homer had never driven a woman to Moe's Tavern, so he felt understandably weird. He had hoped to become disgustingly drunk and forget about the loss of Marge and the kids, in case forgetting them might magically cause them to reappear (_hey, it could work_). Now that a lady was accompanying him, however, he feared he would have to comport himself as a gentleman.

Not so. Mindy proved herself to be every bit the drinker that he was.

"Hey, Moe," she called. "Gimme another Lowbrau."

"Comin' right up," said Moe, reaching for a mug. "You're drinkin' a lot today. Is it a special occasion?"

"Yup," Mindy replied. "Homer and I are getting married in a week."

"Married!" Moe exclaimed in astonishment. "And so soon! Why wasn't I told? Why wasn't I invited? It's the bathing thing, isn't it? C'mon, I bathed for Seymour and Edna's wedding."

"What Mindy meant to say was, we're getting married in at _least _a week," Homer clarified.

"Whassa matter, Homer?" Moe mocked him. "Afraid of commitment? Just wed 'er and bed 'er already."

The more Homer drank, the more reasonable Moe's proposal appeared to him. _Mindy really loves me_, he thought. _If I marry her, then we'll be happy, Marge and Artie will be happy…even Flanders will be happy. Oh well, you gotta take the bad with the good_.

A dejected-looking man with pointy, thinning hair lifted himself onto the stool next to Homer's. "I'll have the usual, Moe," he said in a deflated, raspy voice.

_He looks so familiar_, thought Homer. _The hair, the tiny feet, the red nose, the white makeup…_

"Krusty!" he exclaimed with delight.

The man glared morosely at him. "That's what they used to call me," he grumbled, "back when I had a show."

"What happened?" Homer asked.

"Where have you been?" Krusty sighed. "I went to jail for allegedly holding up the Kwik-E-Mart. It was the end of my show, my career, my family…everything."

"No, it wasn't," said Homer. "Bart cleared your name."

"Bart? Bart who?"

The response hit Homer like a brickbat in the gut. A man's life had been destroyed, all because Bart had never been born.

"Don't tell me you've forgotten Herschel," said Mindy, stroking his arm hair. "He's a regular here."

Without considering that some people might actually have happier lives due to the nonexistence of Bart, Homer launched himself from the stool and marched toward the tavern exit. "Homer, wait!" Mindy called after him.

He was walking past the Android's Dungeon when she caught up. "Homer, please tell me what's going on!" she begged.

"You couldn't possibly understand," said Homer, shaking his head sadly.

"We promised to share everything," said Mindy firmly. "Now start sharing."

While Homer stared wordlessly at her, Comic Book Guy stuck his head through the door of his shop to listen in on the exchange.

"Okay," Homer finally said. "I can't marry you. I have a wife and children."

Mindy's mouth fell open. "You mean…you've been cheating?"

"Not really. You see, I'm not the Homer you fell in love with. I'm a Homer from an alternate reality. A little green alien sent me here, and I have to find a way to return to my own universe, or I'll never see my family again."

"Why, that's ingenious!" Comic Book Guy blurted out. "Best premise ever. I shall use it as the basis for a graphic novel of my own authoring."

Mindy, on the other hand, wasn't impressed—she could only stare blankly.

"You don't believe me," said Homer. "I'm not sure I believe it either. Maybe Maude's right. Maybe I'm having delusions. But I remember it so clearly…all the time I spent with Bart, and Lisa, and Marge…"

"Marge?" The name stunned Mindy. "Marge Ziff?"

Homer nodded.

"That reminds me," said Comic Book Guy. "I'm downloading something from the Internet, and it should be finished by now. Ta-ta."

While the rotund dealer vanished into his store, Mindy gave Homer a gentle scolding. "That's so unoriginal, Homer. Every man in your age bracket has fantasized about being married to Marge Ziff at one time or another. But your case is different, I guess—you knew her in high school. Have you been secretly in love with her all along?"

Homer's brain ground to a halt.

"I know what it is," said Mindy facetiously. "You're waiting for something to happen to Artie Ziff, so you can marry his widow. That's why you won't commit to me."

"Uhhh…" Homer grunted mindlessly.

"Deny it, Homer," Mindy urged him. "I'm getting worried here."

"Uh...I wanna go home," said Homer.

"That's a good idea," said Mindy. "We could both use a good night's sleep. There's no way we'll get to the bottom of your problems as long as we're both drunk."

"G'night, Mandy," said Homer, stumbling away.

Mindy waved and blew a kiss. "Good night, Homer."

* * *

to be continued 


	3. Nerds to the Rescue

Homer staggered into his house to find it empty. Noticing that someone had left voice messages on the phone, he picked up the receiver and pushed a button to play them.

"You have…twelve…new messages. First message."

It was his father's high-pitched, acerbic voice. "Why aren't you married?"

"Second message."

"Why aren't you married?"

"Third message."

"Why aren't you married?"

Too tired and drunk to think about his lost wife, Homer spent a few hours watching Fox reality shows, then retired to bed.

By the next morning, both Homer and his brain felt considerably better—so much better, that a brilliant idea occurred to him. "Eureka!" he exclaimed, throwing off his quilt. Around the living room he ran, wearing nothing but his underpants, shouting, "Eureka! Eureka!"

Both Barney and Gil stepped out of their rooms to see what the ruckus was about. "You don't smell so good either, Homer," Barney remarked. "Uuuurp."

Without bothering to explain his plan to his roommates, Homer quickly clothed himself and called up some old friends—Doug, Benjamin, and Gary, the college nerds.

In his dormitory at Springfield University, Gary set aside his textbook and answered the ringing telephone. "Klingon Embassy. Qa'plagh," he replied in a weary morning voice.

"Homer Simpson here. Remember me?"

"Homer?" said the geek with surprise. "Haven't heard from you since last year."

"I've been busy," said Homer. "Listen, since I did you guys a favor once, I'd like to ask a favor of you."

"What do you mean?" was Gary's response. "We helped you finish college so you could keep your job. The unethical measures we had to take haunt me to this day."

"Yeah, but I taught you how to party," said Homer proudly.

Gary let out a sigh of resignation. "All right, what do you want?"

"Artie Ziff's phone number."

The silence on the line was so profound that Homer thought Gary had died.

"You've gotta be kidding me," the college student spoke up. "It's every nerd's dream to have Artie Ziff's number, but he doesn't give it out. If you want to talk to him, you might still be able to catch him at Comdex—if you buy your ticket to Vegas now."

"I don't want to talk to him," said Homer. "I want it for another reason."

The line fell quiet again.

"I'll tell you what Ben and I will do," said Gary quietly. "We'll hack into the Ziffcorp intranet and find the number for you. But we've got classes and TA duty, so we won't get to it until this afternoon. We'll call you at work as soon as we have it."

"Thanks, guys," said Homer. "What's Doug up to these days?"

"Er…" Gary said sheepishly. "You see, during the summer, Doug and Ben got into an argument about who was sexier, Seven of Nine or T'Pol, and it sort of, well, escalated."

"Yikes," said Homer with a shudder.

"Yeah, those fake light sabers can do a lot of damage if used with enough force. Doug won't be eating solid food again for a long time."

* * *

Ignorant of the conspiracy to steal his contact information, Artie lounged in a first-class seat on a jumbo jet, his short legs barely reaching the floor. Marge sat beside him, her hair bent backwards by the ceiling. She gazed downward at the Arizona desert as it rolled past, and reflected on her pleasant existence.

Artie interrupted her reverie with a question. "Marge, do you remember Homer Simpson, that boy from high school?"

Marge turned her head slowly. "Er, yes. Nice kid, but not too bright. Last I heard he took a job at the nuclear plant."

"I wonder how he's doing," Artie mused.

A flight attendant stopped her cart in front of their seats, and provided them with napkins and bags of peanuts. "Thank you very much," said the millionaire politely.

"Artie, you're not going to eat that, are you?" said Marge as he ripped open the plastic peanut container.

"Why shouldn't I?" Artie responded. "I like peanuts."

"You're allergic," Marge warned him.

"Don't be absurd," said Artie. "I got over my peanut allergy in fourth grade."

"It came back five years ago," said Marge. "You spent three days in the hospital with a puffed-up face. I can't believe you've forgotten."

Artie looked thoughtfully at the salted snacks before him. He didn't recall asking Ozmodiar to bring about a recurrence of his despised allergy. Still, a life without peanuts was to be preferred over a life without Marge.

"Why are you worried about Homer Simpson?" his wife suddenly asked.

He searched his brain for a satisfactory answer.

"I think he had a lot of potential," he remarked. "There may be a place for him in Product Development."

Marge pictured Homer testing a new device that churned out one mug of brown fluid after another. As he gulped down each pint, he criticized the quality and made corresponding adjustments to the machine. "Needs more malt. Not enough head. Too filling…"

* * *

The call didn't come until shortly after 4 p.m. Homer dropped his legs from the console and reached over to answer.

"Homer, this is Gary. I've got the number. Are you ready to write it down?"

He grabbed a pen and pad of paper, and jotted down the digits that Gary dictated.

"Many nerds died to obtain this information," Gary told him.

"Thanks a lot," said Homer. "You owe me one."

He grinned deviously. Step 1 of his plan was complete. Step C would require a helpful female, and he knew where to find one.

Mindy worked at a desk in sector 6-A, if it could be called working. She spent the majority of her time leaning back in her chair, legs raised, looking over safety reports from the various sectors. Occasionally she fell asleep, and her short skirt slipped down and exposed her bare thighs. She was in such a state when Homer approached her.

"Zzz…huh?" Overcome by embarrassment, she quickly yanked the skirt to cover herself.

"I need you to do something for me, Mindy," said Homer earnestly.

"Anything, honey," said the safety inspector, lowering her pump-clad feet.

Homer drew a slip of paper from his pocket and handed it to her. "This is Artie Ziff's personal phone number," he told her. "I want you to call him and pretend to be his mistress."

"WHAT!" exclaimed the startled woman.

"Pretend that you know him, and that you've been having an affair with him for a long time," Homer went on.

Mindy stood and glared at him. "You're asking me to help break up Artie Ziff's marriage," she said accusingly. "What's in it for you? Are you hoping to score with Marge after she divorces him?"

"No, no!" said Homer, waving his hands. "That's not it at all."

"You should be ashamed to even consider such a thing, let alone try to involve me," Mindy scolded him.

"Do this for me and I'll marry you," Homer offered. "I promise."

Mindy opened her mouth to protest, then froze.

_This had better work_, Homer thought.

_He said he'll marry me_, Mindy reflected. _At last I'll have him where I want him_.

"How soon will you marry me?" she inquired.

"Is the Saturday after next good?" was Homer's response.

"The Saturday after next is great," said Mindy. "All right, I'll go along with your scheme. But if you welch on your promise, our relationship is over."

"Thanks, Mindy," said Homer, and he gave her a tender kiss on the lips. _Sorry, Marge_, he thought. _I'm doing this for you_.

* * *

to be continued 


	4. Unfaithful

As Artie and Marge arrived in a limousine at the entrance to their lavish mansion, a manservant approached to carry in their luggage. "Did anything exciting happen while we were gone?" Artie questioned him.

"Some neighborhood boys tried to climb over the fence," the servant replied in a refined British accent. "The Dobermans chased them away. Other than that, nothing remarkable."

"Good show, Winston," Artie complimented him. The millionaire stood on his toes to kiss his wife, and the couple proceeded into the spacious house.

They employed no chef, as Marge loved to cook and was extremely good at it. As she began to marinate a steak, Artie lounged in the den, reading a computer magazine. He had been out of step with technology in the old reality, and needed to catch up with the latest developments. Part of his brain tuned in to his wife's carefree humming, and wondered why they had no children. _Too busy, I guess_, he thought. _But I'll soon remedy that_.

His cell phone rang. He snapped it up from the end table and answered. "Artie Ziff here."

"Hello, Artie," came a woman's seductive voice. "It's me."

_I don't know her, but she obviously knows me. She must be a business associate or a close friend, because no one else should have this number. I'll pretend to remember her._

"It's nice to hear from you," he said pleasantly.

"Who is it, Artie?" Marge asked idly.

"That sounded like your wife," said the strange woman on the phone. "You may want to get rid of her."

Artie's spine went cold. Surely what he suspected couldn't be true…

"Er, just a second," he said, rising and walking into the study. Marge watched curiously as he closed the door, sealing himself inside.

"She can't hear us now," he spoke into the phone. "So, what can I do for you?"

"Stop being so formal," the woman chided him. "You know what you can do for me—what you've already done for me. The last time we made love, I thought I'd died and gone to heaven."

Panic filled Artie's throat. "We…we made l-love?" he stammered.

"We sure did," said the caller. "And now that you're back from Comdex, I want to do it again. I know a charming little spot overlooking the city. No one ever goes there this time of year."

_It can't be true_, Artie thought desperately. _I can't have a mistress. I'd never cheat on Marge_.

"You're being rather quiet," said the mysterious woman. "The last time you were this quiet was just before you broke up with me."

Artie fumbled for words, but horror had rendered him speechless.

"You know you love me, Artie," the woman said impatiently. "You know it was a mistake to marry Marge. You've told me so yourself on more than one occasion."

Pale from shock, Artie slowly folded up the cell phone. _I'm a monster_, he told himself.

* * *

"He hung up on me," said Mindy.

"Call him again," Homer urged her. The pair had gathered at Mindy's apartment after the close of business.

She dialed Artie Ziff's personal number one more time. No answer came, so she left an earnest voice message. "Please call me back, Artie. I love you. I can't live without you."

Homer kissed her gratefully on the cheek. "That was a superb acting job," he commended her.

Mindy rose and stared firmly at him. "I've kept my end of the bargain," she stated. "Now let's you and me get hitched."

_Hurry up, Artie_, thought Homer anxiously. _Tell Ozmodiar you've changed your mind_.

"Er, yes," he said to Mindy. "Yes, I will marry you."

Overwhelmed by delight, the red-headed safety inspector threw herself into Homer's arms. "You've made me the happiest woman on Earth," she gushed. "I can't wait to tell the family."

Then she kissed him. _Think unsexy thoughts_, he ordered himself, but the passion was too strong to resist, and he was soon returning her kisses with equal fervor.

They hurried giddily from the apartment. Their first destination was the Springfield Retirement Castle, where Homer's father was overjoyed by the news of their engagement.

"Oh, my heart…my heart…" he gasped, clutching at his chest and throat.

"Snap out of it, Dad!" pleaded Homer as he supported the old man's back.

Abe Simpson shortly regained his composure. "I'm all right now," he assured his son. "For a moment I thought I'd heard you say you were getting married."

"We _are_ getting married," said Homer.

Abe's knees buckled. "There it goes again," he choked out, tumbling backwards.

"It's no use," Jasper told Homer. "He's been keeping himself alive for this moment."

"Now I can die," mumbled Abe as a nurse carted him away in a wheelchair.

Once they were sure that the old man would pull through, Homer and Mindy raced through the neighborhood, alerting their relatives and friends, who congratulated them warmly.

"Well, that's just fine and dan-diddly-andy," Ned Flanders enthused. "Marriage is the most wonderful thing that can happen to two people—provided they're a man and a woman."

"When's it gonna be ol' Gil's turn to walk down the aisle?" said Gil bitterly.

"You've walked down the aisle four times already," Mindy reminded him.

"Ol' Gil's got plenty o' practice," Gil joked.

"Don't open it until the wedding," said the Crazy Cat Lady, handing them a gift-wrapped box with small holes in the sides.

"Let me know whether you want your first child to be a boy or a girl," said Professor Frink.

Evening had fallen by the time Mindy returned to her apartment with her fiancé in tow. There was no doubt left—in spite of himself, Homer was in love with her. He struggled to keep Marge and the children at the front of his mind, but they were fading quickly.

_I may as well enjoy this new life_, he thought darkly. _Artie didn't fall for my deception. He's still married to Marge, and he will be forever_.

"I've got beer and donuts," said Mindy eagerly. "And _Stargate: British Columbia_ is on."

_My only hope is to swallow my pride—mmm, pride—and beg Artie to give up Marge. If there's even a little bit of good in him…hey, did she say beer and donuts?_

By the time they had devoured a box of donuts, downed a six-pack of Duff, and enjoyed the TV program, they were entwined in each other's arms.

"I love you so much, Homer," said Mindy in a dulcet tone.

"And I love you, Mindy," was Homer's response. _I'll break her heart if I back out now_.

They kissed as if the world was ending, and then Mindy rose and started to unfasten her buttons.

_Omigod_, thought Homer frantically. _She wants to do it! I can tell from her face, and the fact that she's taking off her dress! Focus, Homer…Marge…the kids…oh, what's the use? They're gone!_

His heart pounded as Mindy's dress sank to the floor. _And she's…so beautiful…_

* * *

Marge had already removed her dress, and changed into a nightgown. She noticed with some concern that her husband Artie was staring dolefully at the ceiling, as if he had suffered a trauma. "What's wrong, dear?" she inquired.

Artie didn't answer for a moment. Then he turned his head, and she saw that his eyes had become moist.

"Our life together is a lie, Marge," he confessed. "You were supposed to marry Homer Simpson, but I stole you from him."

Marge shot him an incredulous look. "Why all this talk about Homer Simpson? I would've forgotten him entirely, if you hadn't brought him up."

Artie sat up, and tears trickled down his cheeks. "I'm not worthy of you, Marge. I'm a selfish, evil man. I thought having you by my side would be enough to make me happy, but I was wrong." He lowered his head in shame. "I'm…I'm unfaithful."

Marge's mouth fell open. "What?" she exclaimed in outrage. "Not again!"

_Again?_

"You mean I've cheated on you before?" The thought was too much for Artie to endure.

"You didn't get back together with that model, did you?" said Marge accusingly.

"That's it!" Artie bellowed angrily. "OZMODIAR!"

The little green alien materialized before him as he leaped out of the bed.

"Yes, master?"

"I've learned my lesson," said Artie meekly but firmly. "Make things the way they were before."

"As you wish," said Ozmodiar.

* * *

"Oh, Mindy…oooh, Mindy, Mindy…"

Homer's ecstasy was harshly interrupted by an offended voice. "Homer, wake up! I'm not Mindy!"

His eyelids flew open. He was in bed, and a woman was in his arms—this much he had expected. What surprised him was the eighteen-inch nightcap on the woman's head.

"Waugh!" he screamed. "Marge!"

"You were expecting Mindy, maybe?"

As his indignant wife glowered at him, Homer started to put the pieces together. _Marge is in bed with me…that means we're still married…which means my plan worked…_

Relief washed over him. Pulling his arms away from Marge, he thrust them into the air with a triumphant "WOO-HOO!"

"You never say 'woo-hoo' after making love to _me_," Marge complained.

By now Homer was racing in circles around the bedroom, chanting, "I'm married again! I'm married again!"

As Marge sat up and stretched, Homer grabbed her head and laid a deep, grateful kiss on her lips. He then departed the room and hurried up the stairway, anxious to be reunited with his three children.

"Lisa! I'm so happy to see you again!"

"Dad!" grumbled Lisa, trying in vain to squirm out of his bear hug.

"Maggie! I thought I'd lost you forever!"

"Urgh," whined the infant as her father's grip tightened.

"Good morning, Bart."

"Morning, Homer."

As the family assembled for breakfast, Homer regaled them with a full account of his terrible nightmare, minus a few salacious details.

"Sounded to me like you and Mindy were having a good time," Marge ribbed him.

"I shudder to imagine how I would have turned out with Mindy Simmons as my mom," said Lisa.

"Here are your pancakes," said Marge, setting a plate before her.

"Mmm…pancakes," Lisa salivated.

"So, Lis," said Bart, "when are you gonna invite your blind boyfriend over?"

"Can't talk," Lisa mumbled. "Eating."

Santa's Little Helper trotted into the kitchen, carrying the morning edition of the Springfield Shopper in his mouth. While Homer unrolled it, Bart's eye was caught by a disturbing headline.

"Fortunately, Artie Ziff is in prison, where he can't possibly hurt us," Marge remarked.

"Ay caramba!" Bart cried out.

All eyes turned to the boy. "What is it?" asked Lisa.

Bart pointed at the newspaper with a quivering finger.

"Sideshow Bob has been paroled!"

Indeed, Sideshow Bob was at that moment standing on the doorstep of Edna Krabappel's house, bidding farewell to the teacher. "I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship," the wild-haired former prisoner remarked.

In response, Edna leaned over and kissed him gently on the cheek, causing him to blush.

"There'll be more where that came from," she promised him, "once Bart Simpson is dead."

* * *

Coming soon: Springfield Springs Forward III 


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